Broken Wheel
by Faiseuse d'Histoires
Summary: My take on what should have happened on episode 6, season 8 Blood. Ash. Dust. He could feel it everywhere. On his skin, his nose, his lungs. He had still the taste of it on his mouth, bitter as it should be, with that warmer undertone that chilled his bone. Jon was clean of it, though. Two days since that bloodshed, it was. Two days that seemed like two seconds ago.


Blood. Ash. Dust. He could feel it everywhere. On his skin, his nose, his lungs. He had still the taste of it on his mouth, bitter as it should be, with that warmer undertone that chilled his bone.

Jon was clean of it, though. Two days since that bloodshed, it was. Two days that seemed like two seconds ago. It was still all so clear, the feeling, the mess, the smells of bodies burning, their owners crying for a mercy that never came, or for a death that was taking her time, slowly roasting them alive.

He felt like throwing up.

He felt disgust. Pain in his head, his eyes, his hands that were shaking. Pain in his stomach, that growled for lack of anything solid since these two days. Nothing solid, but still he felt full. Full of filth. Full of hate. Full of rage.

All of this. All the burning. All the bodies.

All because of her. Daenerys. The Dragon Queen.

The one who burned them all.

The one who accompanied him for the Great War and fought beside him. The one who shared with him her dreams, her hopes, her losses, her love…

He shook his head, his pulse still throbbing.

No. It couldn't. She was his aunt. She was a murderer. It was madness.

She was madness.

Outside, Inside, they were crying for a riot. For the killing of the new queen, he heard them. They had enough, they didn't want to suffer again. He didn't want to suffer again.

He had to end it.

And here he was, in front of her door, with Grey Worm guarding him.

He did not say anything; Grey Worm looked at him, hostile, as if he already knew what he was about to do. I'm going to kill my queen, he was tempted to shout at him. Try to stop me. End me. End her.

Madness. All of it. The way love was tainted with hate, with doubts, with fear.

It had to end now. He was prepared to kill the soldier if he had to.

But then he let him in. Reluctantly. He even caught his arms once, as if trying to stop him. But then he looked resigned, like following an order that hadn't been heard from no one else but him.

"Come in" came the treacherous voice of his temptress.

He entered and came closer.

She was here, the Mad Queen, her back on him, looking at the reddish sky coming little by little to darker shades. Red like fire, like blood. A fitting sky for a bloodshed.

He could easily sneak behind her, kill her quick. It wasn't the honorable thing to do. But it was what he should do, before hesitating.

Because he would. He was. Even now, seeing her, seeing the moon reflects on the silver of her hair, the cream of her skin…

He was a fool, he knew. The Mad Queen and the Fool. They would sing songs about it.

But it will certainly be bitter and hard as the taste of ashes rolling on his tongue.

"I knew you would come"

It was dust, and now the smell seemed even stronger than before. And the voices, they still screamed in his ears even if he knew they were gone now. It was silent, but that silence was filled with ghosts.

Everything was broken. Everything was gone.

He said nothing. He couldn't. Not now. He looked at the horizon. Drogon wasn't here.

"I set him free." She said suddenly, almost nervously. "A dragon is not a slave. His place isn't here."

He stopped. Did he say it out loud? How? Why?

The screams echoed in his head, begging him.

Still, her voice rang clearly.

"Drogo, Jorah, Missandei… They all died thinking I would fulfill my destiny."

She leaned much more. One push could end it all. She would die flying.

"They were right. But not in the way they thought."

He was about to throw up. The smell of the bodies haunted him so, it seemed impossible to breathe now. He felt blood on his tongue, blood rushing through his veins, begging him to do something. To end it now.

Still, he felt the need, the stupid need to talk. To ask why. To make her talk more. To shut her up.

He didn't know anymore.

He was fucked up. Lost. Alone. If only he had Ghost to guide him… No, it was for the best. He wasn't a Stark. He wasn't a Targaryen. At this point, he didn't even know who he was. He wasn't deserving his companion. Yet, two months ago, he was so sure he could be both.

His voice cracked.

"Can you really talk of destiny now?"

Her head turned lightly towards him, but he couldn't see her face. Only the shape of her forehead, her delicate nose, and that plump mouth that he kissed so many times…

No. He couldn't. He mustn't.

"You're here to kill me."

Her voice was calm, soft. She was stating a fact. She did not even seem outraged, he noticed. It seemed just like she was resigned. Like she knew.

But how could she?

She was mad. She had to be. She was the cause of all this nightmare. She who he had trusted until the last minute, before everything went to hell.

Then again, he felt it. Fear. Not of her. But for her. For him.

She was a monster. She was his aunt.

He hated himself for it.

But still, why was his heart still beating for her?

"Daenerys…"

She turned completely towards him, her white dress flowing as she did so, making her look ethereal.

She wasn't meant for this world, he thought at this moment.

"No. Don't say you're sorry, please. Everything but that."

He shut his mouth. She sighed, looking at the horizon one last time, before looking back at him.

Their eyes met, fought, full of longing and despair.

He still loved her, he realized with horror. Now more than ever. Even after everything that happened.

Was that how Jaime Lannister felt towards the latter queen? How could it be?

But then she continued, breaking the silence once again, and walking towards him until the distance between them became almost non-existent. And he let her do that, weak as he was.

"I was born to break the wheel. " she was saying as she did so, her voice coming stronger by the minute. "They called me the Breaker of Chains. Do you really think it was to chain other people?"

His mouth opened, but still, he couldn't say anything. All he could think was her, the screams, and that dagger that he brought with him, that was carefully hidden behind his handle. His eyes went to it, and hers followed to. She held her breath shakily, then released it.

"So this is it, then." She said then. Her eyes were not on him now, but he could still feel the burn. "My first love led me to the beginning of my journey. It is poetic, actually, that my last signs its end."

His heart throbbed painfully. His throat contracted itself. But when she finally met his eyes again, she was peaceful, and he released the breath he was holding.

There were no bodies burning now. Only her perfume. Spicey, Icy. Just like her. And the feeling of her body, warm against his.

He shouldn't. Not now. Not ever.

"Hold me in your arms". She said. "I want to die in your arms tonight."

He couldn't say no to her. And yet, he knew he shouldn't.

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him.

"You made me doubt it, you know. I was even tempted to rule, if only you were by my side…"

One minute. Two. Three. Silence enveloped them like a blanket, and he didn't want to let go. He couldn't even comprehend what she was trying to say to him.

"I can't". He was crying, he realized. He had lost so much, and still, he couldn't lose her.

"You have to."

"Why are you… You should… how?"

How are you so calm? He wanted to scream at her. I'm about to kill you!

She raised her eyes to met his.

"You have to."

"You are a tyrant." He said, his voice breaking once again.

She leaned, gripping more on his chest, closing her eyes.

"And now, thanks to you I would be the last."

His eyes widened. He was shocked, like thunder just paralyzed him just as he began to process what was underlying between these sentences.

"I was never meant to reign. Only to deliver the people from tyrants. Even if it meant becoming one. That's the way it had to end. That's the way people realize they could be free, without a king, a queen, or anyone giving them order."

His breath got caught on his throat. Then, did it mean… How? He was so confused.

"Hold me, my love," she sobbed suddenly, shaking. "I need to forget it all. All… the screams. The smells… All of it…"

He stayed that way a few minutes, not responding as she cried on him, never looking at him again. But then, she had to break it, once again, releasing him a bit to look at him in the eyes again.

"Do it". The words were simple, yet when he heard them, his heart broke once again. She had taken the dagger on his handle, and now was trying to put him in his hand. "Do it before I loose myself once again."

He thought he was prepared, but she was here, in his arms, her chest against his own, her eyes pleading him to act. Her hands were on his now, with the cold blade of the dagger that he gripped mechanically, ignoring the pain and the bleeding of his hand.

The pointy end was in her chest now, her hands still guiding him toward her chest. But he still couldn't.

He wanted to kiss her, hold her tight once again, skin to skin.

He closed his eyes.

It was bad. It was wrong. He knew it. What is duty, compared to a woman's love? Had said maester Aemon. Till then, he thought he had lived it, with Ygritte dying in his arms, just like now, her last words telling him that he knew nothing.

He still knew nothing, he realized as she suddenly kissed him, setting him on fire.

Until it suddenly stopped and turned to ashes. The dagger was pushed deeply on her chest, where her heart was.

His eyes opened and widened, seeing her gasping from pain. What had he done? All this bleeding, it couldn't…. It couldn't come from her entirely? No…

"No… No, you can't…. You can't" He stuttered, despaired.

He fell down, crumbling with her still in his arms. The floor was hard, but he did not feel its bite. He caressed her face for what seemed like hours.

He wanted to tell her one last time that he loved her. That he hated her for what she did. But still, in its own way, he was beginning to understand.

"What should I tell them?" he whispered, quite pathetically instead.

Her eyes met him, and her lips formed a slight smile, one he knew would be the last. One that could haunt his memory and fill his mind with doubt and regrets.

"Whatever you want." She said "Or let them. Let them say I was the Mad Queen. That I bewitched you, that I was the cause of all misery. Let them decide. And please. I beg you. Let this madness end."

He had to keep her talking. He had to.

"And me? Who am I now? How? How could I live with all that happened?"

She looked at him intensely.

"You never needed me to be what you are, Jon Snow." She said softly. "Yours is the song of ice and fire, I've heard it before, long before I met you. You're as much fire as ice. You don't need me."

He held her further in his arms, as if he could stop the life from fleeing from her body minute after minute.

She coughed a little, then, with the last of the strength she had, she said:

"Please, do not let history repeat itself. Let the wheel stay broken."

She caressed his cheek one last time, before closing her eyes and letting her last breath go.

It was over. Just like it. But still, it seemed like death did not want to take a hold on her. It seemed like she was sleeping.

What a waste, he thought. What a waste of broken hearts.

Now, as she layed in his arms, unmoving, he felt it once again. Love. Lust. Betrayal. Greed. Power. All of that corrupted people. And now, the iron throne was destroyed.

No one would fill that chair again, she had decided. And he was determinate to be at least faithful to that last will.

All for a people who would never know. Who would only know her for her crimes, her madness.

But was it really madness?

This world was mad, and it seemed that it took tyrants after tyrants for people realizing they had enough.

He couldn't rule. Not after what happened. Not with this knowledge.

That wasn't what she wanted. He closed his eyes, burying his head in her hair and closing himself from the world at the same moment.

After what felt like years, he finally felt something, beside Daenerys' body. A hand on his shoulder. How? He was confused. How was she here?

"Jon." It was Sansa's voice. "It's been days, now. You did it. Now you have to let her go. Come back home."

Home? But where was really home? He turned towards her, confused. But her gaze was cold.

"Let her go. Let her go back to the ashes where she belongs." She continued.

His heart stung. But still, half alive, half dead. He looked back at the body and gaped.

That wasn't her anymore.

He did it to her…

Horrified, he let go and let Sansa guide him out.

When they were outside, he wondered.

There was nobody else. Where were they, all of them? All who swore to protect Daenerys?

How could they have let him do that to her?

"Sevens, Jon, you're not making it any easier!" a voice snapped.

Surprised, he turned towards Sansa, his head still ringing. Under her gaze, he couldn't help but lower his head.

"I told you should have stayed!"

He looked at her, dull.

"You should have…"

That's when he snapped.

"… listen to you? Like you listened to me?"

She shut her mouth, but he could see by her expression she was about to lecture him.

"Tell me, dear sister, cousin, or whatever, if I am king, like you seemed to want me to be so much, would it make It all better? Would you truly respect me as such?"

"Of course, I would." She began, her voice raising a bit. "… I do."

He looked at her, disbelieving.

"No. You wouldn't. You don't"

And he couldn't blame her. He didn't trust her too. Not anymore.

"She's dead, Jon. She can't arm us. Not anymore" She continued. "And you, you can protect it. Protect us. Be our king. Your people need you."

The words were pleasing to hear. He was almost tempted to do so.

But then again, he still had her perfume on his mind. He couldn't do that to her. His claim was going to be an obstacle, and she knew it. That was part of what she wanted it to be a secret, he realized.

"No."

"No?" Her eyebrows rose.

"no. The people don't need me." He said. "It ends here."

She blinked, seeming to grasp the meaning. Then she looked at him sharply.

"You are a fool."

He looked back one last time at her. Maybe he was. But he wouldn't be anyone's fool anymore.

He returned at Daenerys' side, and this time, Sansa let him. It was like she knew. She had let it go, her too.

He would have to persuade Gendry. But then, he knew that it was possible. Gendry wasn't ambitious, and did not care.

It would be the beginning of a new era. It was revolutionary. It would take time before it actually works. But it could definitely work, with all the houses that were now broken down and had lost so much in the way.

He just had to step back and let others decide what was best for the realm. Guide them maybe, at the beginning. Or disappear entirely, so that no one would ask him to rebuilt the wheel again.

It was a hard mission, the one Daenerys asked him to do. But he was willing to do it. For her.

A Targaryen, alone in the words… The words rang back to him.

He was as fire as ice, she said. He didn't need her. The voices had ceased now. The smells had gone.

But then, why did he feel so cold?


End file.
